Chapter Six

C hapter Six

A ndy

F or as long as I played professionally, a simmering hatred towards mass media lingered in my veins. From my very first interview as an eager eighteen-year-old, they twisted my words, spat lies and solidified my loathing for the industry. It followed me when I took the field to play, when I tried to engage with any form of normalcy which saw me venture out in public, and it moseyed around us now reminding me of the absurdity of the situation. But it was once they overstepped and impeded on my family that the bone deep abhorrence took hold, coating any interaction with scepticism.

I despised them all. The network or organisation was irrelevant. They all held the same purpose and the same lack of ethics. So, it was a strange turn of events that saw me now, sitting on my fucking balcony with one who I personally requested and invited to my damn house.

Arna was far sexier than I remembered, with those thick thighs and plump lips – but unnervingly – she was more than that. While she maintained a tough exterior, there was a vulnerability in those aquamarine eyes and the pretentious dickish persona I used as a shield was getting more difficult to maintain. Feigning nonchalance, I picked non-existent lint off my pants and willed myself to look away from the way her waist sloped in before curving into that damn arse. While she was intriguing and most definitely beautiful it didn't mean she was trustworthy and it would do me good to remember that.

"Possibly. Let's just get through today first." I mumbled.

"Oh, sure. Of course. No problem." Glancing towards her, I ignored the way her cheeks tinged, embarrassed by my rudeness. Briefly, I wondered if I could make her flush that same colour but in a very different way before wiping the ridiculous idea clean. She drummed her fingers against the bar top, obviously frustrated, and the feeling of knowing I was the cause, filled me with less satisfaction than expected.

"So, Andy, thank you so much for having Pulse conduct this feature. We are really excited." I huffed in disbelief at what was obviously rehearsed platitudes. I could see deep down she wanted to tell me to go fuck myself, but her job obviously meant something and so she continued with the practiced pleasantries. "Let's start by talking about you as a person. Tell me about yourself. I have so many questions I could ask you, but as is bleedingly obvious, I'm not actually a journalist, so this is my first, well second, interview." She laughed unapologetically and I admired the way she was so naturally easy going. Previously, reporters felt the need to spit facts at me as if I didn't already know my own birthday or the number of goals I kicked in my first year. But her carefree nature was unforeseen and despite my better judgement, I found she was likeable.

I pondered continuing with the gruff wall of insolence like I had at the clubhouse, and did with every other interview, but figured I needed to give her something.

"I'm sure you already know a bit about me from what has already been written so what is there to say? I love football. I captain the greatest team in the world and I'm lucky to be able to do what I enjoy and be paid to do it." Lifting my hat and scratching my forehead, I looked out towards the city. I could feel her eyes boring into me unnervingly, so I kept my gaze focused on the view. Of all places, this balcony was where I felt the most comfortable. Living in the middle of the city seemed counterproductive when you enjoyed your own company, but being amongst it while remaining on the periphery was exactly how I found my calm.

"How long have you lived here?" She asked, and I wondered for a second if she could read my mind. "It's difficult to ignore how pulchritudinous this view is while sitting out here. It must be amazing to call this home."

Pulchi-what? You would think she would have continued asking football related questions while I was actually responding, not commenting on where I live. I opened the door to an easy conversation and it was all anyone ever wanted to know anyway, yet she bypassed this as if I was not the captain of the best team in the league.

"A few years now. But what did you say about the view? I play football, I'm not known for my intellect." I laughed in a self-deprecatory manner shaking my head at her. She stared at me quizzically and I looked towards my feet, suddenly uncertain under her laser-like gaze. I rolled my shoulders, feeling seen in an entirely new way, the thought making me uncomfortable. I needed to be in control, steer the conversation where I wanted and make sure she got enough without saying a lot. But I couldn't read her mind and wondering exactly what she was thinking suffocated my thoughts. Seeing her fidget from my peripheral, I looked up as she placed the pencil inside her notebook, closing the cover and placing it on the bar.

"You don't need to do that, you know?" She tilted her head as she studied me further. "I won't lie, I know nothing about the Hearts, but your comportment suggests you're not an idiot, so please don't feel the need to falsify yourself for the sake of the article. I will pitch it however you want. Pulchritudinous means beautiful, so tell me now why you chose to live here ?"

"I might need a dictionary to answer that one." I left the rest of my deflection unsaid to appear jovial. But the truth was, her words rattled me and I needed to regroup before I replied. I had been sitting with her for no time at all but she already read me better than people I'd known for years. It was bewildering and disconcerting. On top of that, she spoke in some alter-language, using words far beyond my vocabulary and she was hot as fuck while doing it. Christ, she was an anomaly.

Usually, I would throw out a joke, flirt a little and mention the footy club, and women would fall at their feet just to be near me without requiring much conversation. I could have whoever I wanted, in whatever capacity suited me, but not with this one. She was different and it was equally enticing and frightening the way she evoked a sense of curiosity and unknowingly demanded more.

"I'm an editor." She shrugged. "I work with words. I like language and I enjoy challenging myself whenever I can." And while her response appeared smug, the sincerity on her face was evident. She wasn't trying to brag, she was purely stating facts. Confident, easy-going and intelligent. Huh! Her list of interesting qualities again emphasised how much more she really was.

"Right. Well, as I said, I have lived here for a few years. This balcony is my favourite part and when I first walked through the place, I was sold the second I stepped foot out here. I like the solitude of being alone while the world continues to move without me down below." I took a large drink of water silently wondering why I gave such an honest answer. I didn't say things like that to anyone but she was making it too easy to be myself.

Needing a second, I moved towards the edge of the balcony and looked out towards the city centre where I could see people moving back and forth, phones glued to their ear. Families enjoying a day out, strollers and backpacks filled with the essentials for a typically warm Autumn day. At the park there were couples having lunch, picnic blankets scattered as they enjoyed each other. I liked knowing there were people around, yet here I could still be a part of it all without interacting with strangers who felt entitled to my life just because they saw me on the field. I was glad I kept those thoughts to myself, although I'm sure Little Miss Interviewer would love to hear it all. So, she could twist and contort my insecurities and words for the appetite of everyone else. Instead, I continued looking out at the scenery, keeping those cynical thoughts locked safely inside where they couldn't be judged or manipulated.

"Do you have siblings, Andy?" Her question came from behind me, but it sounded closer than I would have anticipated. I glanced over my shoulder to find she had moved nearer, but not against the railing like I was. I beckoned for her to join me but she shook her head ever so slightly.

"Heights." She stated simply.

I moved away from the edge, unsure why I suddenly felt drawn to her like she was a magnet pulling me closer. The sun reflected off her glossy lips spotlighting the clarity of her eyes. God, she was irritatingly breathtaking. For a moment I wondered if she would be as desirable if I met her under other circumstances. Or was it simply the idea of the forbidden fruit.

Shaking my head to refocus, I forced myself to move over to the bar to gain some much needed space.

"Yep, just the one." I said, pivoting the conversation back to her previous question.

"Brother, sister? Older or younger?" There was a slight snarkiness to her tone and it was clear my evasive answers were starting to piss her off.

"Brother. Much younger. A surprise to my unsuspecting parents." I scoffed, remembering the looks on their faces when they told me I was getting a sibling for Christmas. As a child I was mostly excited but also mildly jealous, realising this meant I was no longer going to be the centre of their world. As an adult I recalled the moment through a different lens – the fear written over their features. And rightfully so. Dylan repeatedly proved that he came along to give us all grey hair way before our time.

"Are you two close?" She massaged above her eyebrows before readjusting the pen in her hair. Fuck she had this cute little teacher vibe going on in that skirt and I contemplated how her hair would feel if I took those pens out and wrapped it around my fist while I bent her over.

Dismissing the thought, I looked anywhere but at her. Get your mind out of the gutter, Gloss and finish this interview before she sees you're growing hard.

Thinking about her like that was a lawsuit waiting to happen and given her vocation, she would probably love nothing more than to slander me.

"Yeah, I guess so," I answered honestly. "I mean, there are eight years between us but he's a good kid. Total opposite to me other than he also loves footy but was never interested in playing. He does come and watch sometimes though." I redirected, trying to bring it back to work, feeling a little exposed with where the conversation was going and that I was uncharacteristically starting to have a more visceral reaction to her. She hadn't moved back towards her notepad, instead listening attentively from where she stood and while I wasn't an expert on interviews, this one felt different. Either she chose the wrong career and should have been a journo, or she genuinely cared about my answers. I was perturbed and I didn't like it when I wasn't in control. Especially when it came to the media. I needed to be careful that this didn't move into a therapy session.

Short and sharp, Gloss .

There was just something about her which made it easy to forget why she was here, on the dime of her job, to pilfer information from me. Just like the rest of the filth who followed me with a camera or microphone ready, waiting for a glimpse of debauchery.

"Anyway, you're here to talk about football, not my family." I reminded both her and myself, failing miserably as my harsh response had the intended effect. A look of confusion swept her features before she took a deep breath and nodded, moving back towards her notes. Her jaw tensed and I could tell she was exasperated. I was definitely pissing her off now and while part of me wanted to rattle her, there was a small flicker of apprehension.

"Apologies, Mr. Gloss. Tell me about how you came to be the captain of the Hearts." Her formal tone coupled with the way she referred to me by my surname made me feel like a piece of shit, but she was unknowingly shaking my composure. I shouldn't have invited her to my house. Being alone meant there was nowhere to hide and the only way to prevent her from getting too close was to be the dick that everyone thought I was. Why I cared what she thought of me at all was a niggling question rattling around my brain as I answered with the same generic line I gave every other reporter who asked.